Tristan Riddle
by Wotcher Motherduckers
Summary: What if Lord Voldemort had a son? This is the story of Tristan Riddle and his unfortunate end.
1. Chapter One

**Synopsis: What if Lord Voldemort had a son? This is the story of Tristan Riddle and his unfortunate end**.

 **Warnings: Child abuse, police brutality, torture/experimentation of young child, character death, death** **penalty.** **Lots of OCs.**

 **Disclaimer** **: I do not own any of the canon characters or plotlines of Harry Potter. I am a teenage writer with an overactive imagination.**

~

 _1975_

"Tristan Arius Riddle, welcome to your world." The soft voice made the baby coo, reaching out a chubby finger to grab on his father's finger, giving the man a toothless smile.

The baby yawned and the Dark Lord couldn't fight the smile from his face, startling the staring Death Eaters.

"What of the girl, my lord?" one asked, nodding to the young woman on the bed, in a fitful exhausted sleep after sleepless nights of tending to her month old.

"Leave her." He ordered, having mercy for once on the mother of his child. Minerva McGonagall had been unaware of his true identity, only knowing him as Tom, the charming man she had met in the pub and spent a warm night with.

And perhaps leaving her alive was a crueller torture.

"Set up the silencing wards. Ensure the nursery is fully warded." Lord Voldemort ordered. When nobody moved, he hissed, casing a nonverbal Crucio at the nearest Death Eater. When Malfoy Junior, Lucius he believed the man's name to be, dropped screaming, the others sped off to do their Lord's bidding.

Little Tristan giggled as he watched the screaming man, and cuddled up to his father, adoration in his eyes. He didn't protest as he was carried away from his mother's room and apparated to Gaunt Mansion.

~

 _1979_

Tristan giggled as Nagini curled around him happily, tickling his face with her tongue, and he tried to push her away from him with a slender hand.

'Gini, don't be mean!' The four year old hissed in Parsletongue, the language of snakes completely natural and unaccented, not babbled in toddler speak either, completely clear.

Such was the nature of the language.

'But Trissy, you're so tasty!' The snake whined. 'I just want to eat you!'

'No eating my son, Nagini,' The Dark Lord hissed from his throne, sounding amused as he watched the snake and his son, glad for the distraction from his arguing ranks. Something about who killed a certain Muggle, he could not care less.

A fight broke out, and Lord Voldemort stood to put an end to it.

"Avada Kedavra!" One Death Eater screamed, his wand pointed at the other, who dodged deftly.

The spell, however, continued, headed towards Tristan.

Nagini hissed, rearing up, the spell bouncing harmlessly off her scales and hitting the floor, leaving a sizeable crator.

Tristan burst out crying, confused and scared, not knowing quite what was going on other than loud noises and angry Nagini and Daddy.

Nagini curled around him, her scaly head blocking his view of the Death Eater meeting as she hissed and cooed at him, comfortingly.

"Avada kedavra!" He heard his father cast angrily.

Tristan wasn't allowed to go to Death Eater meetings again.

~

 _1981_

"'Ella!" The six year old laughed as he was chased by the crazy black haired woman, giggling as he was caught and swept up, tickled mercilessly by the mad Black.

Bellatrix and Tristan had bonded quite strongly, rather unexpectedly. He loved her, loved cuddling up to her, playing games with her, stealing her wand and trying to jinx, hex, and curse her, he loved pulling on her hair and begging her to cast that funny pain curse on Uncle Lucy whenever he saw him, and Bella loved complying with his every wish and whim, doting on him at every chance she got.

"Le' me go!" He squealed, trying to escape her tickling fingers and scratchy long nails.

"Alright... If you can answer some questions." She challenged.

Tristan managed to nod, trying to hold back his breathless giggles as the woman didn't even try to let up on him.

"What... Would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" She asked, sounding smug, thinking the boy would not have a clue what the answer was.

"The first - Bella let up! - stage of the Draught of Living Death," He managed.

Bella nodded but didn't stop tickling him. "Two more questions, brat." She said affectionately, "Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"Stomach of a goat!" He declared, wriggling to get free. "It will pro-protect from most poisons!"

"Very good, now this is a hard one..." She paused for dramatic effect, fingers never ceasing their assault. "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"Nothing! They're the same plant!" The boy said triumphantly, laughing even as he was released and fell straight to the floor, landing softly on his bum.

"Bella! That hurt." He complained, frowning up at his mother figure.

"You didn't say the correct name." She pointed out with a snigger.

"It's, ac-ak-" He stumbled over the pronunciation for a few moments, "aconite!" he announced, puffing up like a proud bird.

"So Snivelly's been grilling you hard." Bella summarised, smiling as the boy made a face, clearly not liking the Potions expert. He was working on his Mastery, but the Dark Lord entrusting none other than the best to the teaching of his son.

Then the woman winced, hand going to her arm.

"Is daddy calling?" Tristan asked, eyes lighting up. "Can I come? Can I, can I please Bella?" He begged.

"Sorry squirt, it's gonna be a full meeting, you know how your dad gets when there's a full meeting."

"Yes, Auntie Bella." The boy pouted, tears beginning to form in his eyes.

Bella rolled her eyes. "You'll have Fen to look after you."

Tristan grinned. "I borrow your wand?" He asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

The Death Eater couldn't help but chuckle, taking out her wand and holding it out to the boy, snatching it back before he could take it.

"No unforgivables and no curses. Hexes and jinxes only." She ordered, ruffling his hair and handing him her wand. "Have fun."

~

"Ducklifors!" The child cast at the werewolf's wand, giggling as it turned into a very brightly coloured duck that looked around before biting poor Fenrir Greyback on the hand. Hard.

Tristan giggled as the man flounced around, trying to shake the duck off without hurting it. He rolled around on the floor, laughing uncontrollably when the man howled in pain as the duck let go, only to catch onto some more sensitive parts.

Then there was a bang. Shouts.

Fenrir stopped immediately, and the duck changed back into a wand, which he brandished at the door.

"Cub, hide." He ordered, a slight husk of worry in his voice. "Expecto Patronum," He intoned, sending his werewolf patronus - Tristan couldn't stop his eyes from widening in awe at the werewolf's patronus, not just in childish adoration with anything shiny, but at how Fenrir was his own patronus - to Bellatrix and his pack, watching as the wolf split into several normal wolves, that ran off.

"Cub, hide!" He snapped again, seeing Tristan hadn't moved. When Tristan still didn't move, he snarled, picking the boy up by the arms, growling a password at a portrait until it opened, and shoving him unceremoniously into the small panic room there.

"Don't let anybody in." He ordered the portrait. "It'll be okay, cub, keep quiet, it'll be over soon."

The portrait closed. Several warding and silencing spells were cast over the area and then:

"Death Eater! Show yourself!" The clear voice of Cecil Lee called. The man was an Auror, a prejudiced one at that, though Tristan didn't fully understand what that meant, and was on his way to making his own Anti-Were task force in the ministry.

The fight that ensued was loud and filled with yells of pain and anger. Tristan sniffed and shoved his fist into his mouth when he heard a bellowed "Crucio," And a loud thud, followed by pained howls, the type that could only come from Fen.

He had bit down hard enough to taste blood welling in his mouth and hear the whines of Fen's pack, some very close to his panic space as they smelt the young boys blood. A guard, obviously.

The crack of apparation ended the howls and Tristan internally rejoiced as he heard Bella and Lucy's voices spewing curses, and finally removed his bleeding hand from his mouth when he heard his father's voice casting the green spell, Abracadabra or something like that, the Death spell.

The Aurors had retreated by the time a shaken Bellatrix threw open his portrait, hissing a warning at the wolf in the picture, and pulled Tristan into her arms protectively, cooing over his injured hand and carefully casting some healing spells on it. The Dark Lord watched silently, eyes cold as he turned to the bound Aurors they had captured.

"My son is hurt." He spat at the cowering Aurors. "Crucio!" He hissed in savage pleasure as the leftmost writhed bit remained soticly silent, maintaining eye contact with the Dark Lord.

When the curse ended a good ten minutes later, the man had yet to offer more than a shaken whining breath, and Voldemort looked thoroughly unimpressed.

"Bellatrix," He called, ignoring his son still wrapped in the Death Eaters arms. "Destroy him."

"With pleasure, my Lord," She said as humbly as she could manage, though a hot rage had sparked inside her eyes, the mothering instincts Tristan awakened spurring her need for retribution.

"Can I have my wand back, squirt?" She cooed, gently guiding her wand to be pointed at Frank Longbottom, each having one hand on the wand.

"Say it with me," She encouraged softly.

"Crucio."

~

Frank Longbottom was found with the Dark Mark carved into his skin, his mind shattered from being held under the Cruciatus for so long. His wife had sobbed in anguish and her baby son didn't understand why his daddy was there but not there.

A newspaper article was released in the morning, detailing his attack and revealing the existence of Tristan to the world, exactly what Lord Voldemort had feared.

From then, his schedule changed. He had to win the war quickly, destroy the enemy as soon as possible to ensure the safety of his son.

"Bellatrix, tonight, we strike." He ordered, looking down at the pathetic excuse for a being in front of him. Peter Petrigrew, known as Wormtail, had been a thorn in his side for a while, but he had broken the man. He had the address of the Potters, the Longbottoms, the Lovegoods, and the Prewetts, and he intended to strike them all at once.

Bellatrix grinned, the insane edge to her eyes only increasing, glinting in the moonlight.

She had long since lost herself, after Tristan was put in danger, she could think of nothing but protecting him, killing all that wanted to harm him. She was out for blood, and she wanted to destroy Alice Longbottom like she had her husband, if only to ensure she couldn't come after Tristan as an act of retribution.

"My Prince will remain with Mulciber. You will take the Lestrange brothers and Crouch to the Longbottoms - no survivors." He ordered. "Dolohov: the Prewett twins, take Malfoy and Nott - no survivors."

"Macnair, you will take Sewlyn to the Lovegood home. Torture them, do not kill." Was the final order.

"And where will you be, my Lord?" Bellatrix asked softly.

"I will be eradicating the Potters." He sneered at his troops. "Move out."

And so they did.

Tristan looked up at Mulciber. Mulciber looked down at him.

They settled into their usual routine. Mulciber was one of the first to join the Death Eaters and one of the few to ever be trusted with Tristan.

He set a heavy book in the boy's lap. "Chapter One. Turns asking questions on the content after." He grunted, patting the boy on the head before settling down to read also, though he was reading a far darker tome.

The Druid's Apocothary was highly intresting to Tristan, in fact he'd been begging his father for months to let him read the banned book. It was one of the few copies left. He buried his nose into it, reading with instrest about the concept of magical balance in the world and how it affected the world in terms of herbology, performed magic, rituals and potions.

He didn't understand a lot of it, but he was overjoyed nonetheless to be reading it and did understand some of the simpler concepts of magical balance.

He was reaching the end of the chapter when an alarm sounded above him.

Mulciber jumped to his feet, dropping his book, taking his wand out.

"Behind me, boy," He ordered, and Tristan shuffled into place, whining softly in distress.

"Do you know how to cast a Patronus?" He asked, taking a wand he'd taken off an Auror that same day from his pocket. Tristan had read the theory but he'd never cast it. Bellatrix had told him the volatile spell was best practiced after seven years old, when the magical core had a boost.

Tristan nodded. He had the theory, surely that'd be enough.

He took the wand and focused on the happiest thought he could think of, and cast quietly, heading crashes, bangs, and shouting as what he could only guess was an Auror squad stormed the Gaunt Mansion. A whisp of silver curled out from the wand but refused to form into any shape.

Mulciber just nodded calmly. "You going to help me fight? No spell restrictions." He said, patting the boy on the head again and turning as there was a crash against the door as the Aurors tried to break it down.

"Ready?"

Chaos.

It was utter chaos, five stunning spells, three cutting curses, two disarming curses, and two strange purple spells attacked the room, only two landing.

One of the purple spells hit Mulciber, who grit his teeth as the modified Stinging Hex hit him. A cutting curse sliced open Tristan's arm, causing the boy to scream.

Mulciber was distracted for a moment as he lifted the boy up, ignoring the pain from the Stinging Hex, far too used to the Cruciatus to be too affected, and placed him securely on his hip, putting pressure on the cut before he glared at the Auror Squad.

He flew into action, the half hidden Tristan giving him ideas and occasionally joining in.

Seeing they were quickly losing, twelve against two, Mulciber pointed his wand at the nearest Auror and cast a strong Imperius, ordering the tall black man to fight with them. He managed to do the same to two more Aurors, and though they struggled against his commands, the pure hatred and anger Mulciber felt towards the Aurors forced them to bend to his will.

But a stunning spell knocked down Mulciber finally, the man bloody and bruised, and had him crashing to the floor, pinning Tristan down with him. The young child whined, struggling to get himself loose.

The Aurors bound Mulciber and finally lifted him off the crying child, who dashed to a corner the moment he was free, shivering from the cold and the pain. His arm felt like it was on fire.

A mad looking Auror advanced on him angrily. He recognised him as Moody, the horrible man who wanted to hurt his daddy. The man raised his wand to cast and-

A black haired man rushed over, standing in front of the grizzled old Auror and speaking calmly to him. Moody sneered at the child but turned away and walked back to the squadron rounding up the captured Death Eaters.

The black haired man walked over to him, coming down to his height.

"Are you alright?" He asked gently, his grey eyes so familiar it hurt. He wanted his Bella or his daddy, but all he had was this man who looked like Bella.

Tristan shook his head tearfully, motioning weakly to his heavily bleeding arm. The man gently took hold of it, turning it so he could see the cut.

He gagged, looking sick as he saw bone in the cut, surprised it hadn't severed the poor kid's arm. He cast a soft spell to see who's wand had caused it, wincing when the face of his mentor Alastair Moody appeared in a puff of smoke.

Only Moody's spell could ever hit a kid.

"I can't heal this, but we'll get you to somebody who can." He said. "Where are your parents?"

Tristan's eyes widened and he shook his head quickly.

"Are they dead?" He asked softly, pity in his eyes.

Tristan shook his head again.

"Are they... Death Eaters?" He asked, eyes now wide in shock. Death Eaters were human enough to reproduce? Mulciber had been awfully protective, but they already had the Junior Mulciber in custody.

Tristan shook his head. His Daddy wasn't a Death Eater. He was the Dark Lord.

"Who are they then?" The man asked.

"Daddy is Lord Voldymore," Tristan whispered, struggling a bit on his father's known name.

The man's eyes bugged impossibly before he stood up, holding a hand out to the still sniffling child.

"Al-alright. Why don't we get you to the healers?" He offered. Tristan hesitantly took his hand, not knowing what else to do. He allowed himself to be led out of the building by Auror Sirius Black, amongst shouts at the Auror that had him cowering behind him.

"You'll pay for this, Black!" Mulciber snarled, struggling to get out of his bonds. "The Dark Lord will make you pay for hurting his son!" He declared, then a red light hit him and he was unconscious.

The shouts from his fellow Aurors increased.

"He's a child!" Sirius yelled back, having to shield the kid with his own body when somebody shot off an Incendio. He glared at Dawlish, chest heaving as the spell caused some minor burns over his front.

"We're taking him to the Ministry, he needs medical attention. And now so do I." He grumbled. He looked to Auror Shacklebolt, the leader of the squadron. "I'm going to the MediHall. I'll give my report when I'm done there."

"Take all the time you need." Shacklebolt nodded, looking curiously at the young boy, before Sirius disaparated with Tristan Riddle in tow.

~

"Sirius Black, gotten yourself injured again?" MediWitch Pomfrey asked him with a small smile. The witch was helping at the Ministry for the war, having taken a break from being the Hogwarts MediWitch specially.

"Auror work is dangerous, Poppy," Sirius grinned rogueishly at the elder witch, who rolled her eyes at him, before her eyes went to the man's charge.

"And who is this handsome little man?" She asked with a smile. By the pale shakiness, she could tell the poor dear was going into shock. She could see a deep slash in his arm and some blood blooming on his shirt from an injury in his shoulder, and assumed it was another one of Greyback's 'cubs'.

"I - I didn't get his name." Sirius said quickly, the half-truth the best he could manage. He wasn't sure if Poppy would treat him if she knew the truth. Nothing against her, but the son of the Dark Lord they were in a war against? Not many wouldn't want to heal him.

"It's Tristan." The boy whispered.

"Alright Tristan, can you sit on the bed? I'll look at you first." The MediWitch gave Sirius an odd look, especially as he lifted the boy onto the bed.

It took a few minutes to heal Tristan, and Poppy looked continually more concerned as she proceeded.

"Where did you find this boy, Sirius Black?" Poppy demanded, looking to the Auror with a glare that made him shrink back a bit.

"On a raid..."

"A raid where, exactly?"

"Gaunt Mansion."

"Who did I just treat, Mr Black?" The MediWitch growled.

"Voldemort's kid." Sirius admitted meekly.

Poppy scowled. "You should have said. He needs a magical core stabiliser, then, to lower dark magic damage to his core."

Sirius nodded, relaxing as he noted the witch had no malintent. The kid may be that of the Dark Lord, but that didn't mean he was willing to let a kid get hurt.

Poppy drew the curtains around them all, ensuring their privacy.

Twenty minutes went by.

Thirty minutes went by.

An hour went by.

Poppy finally stopped casting spells and administering potions, stepping back and looking over Tristan Riddle.

The boy had numerous injuries and it seemed mostly have come from the fight just then or stemmed from injuries garnered in general kid behaviour, a broken wrist set wrong after a nasty fall and the tiniest amount of nerve damage after a splinching accident that had only taken a bit of skin off the boy's leg, it seemed being the worst of these types.

The damage from the fight was extensive and would have been worse if Mulciber hadn't been so intent on protecting the boy. There was a second degree burn up his side from a fire whip he'd seen Dawlish send, the skin of his knee was gone where a skin peeling curse had hit him and Mulciber, Mulciber having taken the brunt of it, unsurprisingly, and some extensive nerve damage from being hit by a Cruciatus he hadn't seen cast but retaliated against by Mulciber rather viciously.

Poppy tutted and clucked disapprovingly as the mother hen finished healing her young charge.

"Sirius, injuries." She then snapped. Sirius rolled his eyes and let her heal the few cuts he'd gained from the fight, leaving not a scar behind.

"Where will you be taking Tristan?" She asked.

"Department of Magical Law Enforcement." Sirius shrugged. "They'll take him to Adoptions or Department of Mysteries, no doubt."

"De-department of Mysteries?" She stuttered, indignant. "A child, to the Department of Mysteries?"

"Well they can't arrest him. And they can't just let him free." Sirius said. "Seems the only place they'd take him."

"But that's... He's a child! He should be going out Trick or Treating, not going to the Department of Mysteries!" She said, fussing over the quiet Tristan, who sat staring off into space, not really sure how to react to these events.

"I know Poppy, but that's how it is. I should be dressing up Harry as a pumpkin for his first real Halloween, but I'm here doing raids on the Dark Lord and hoping they can stop the attack on the Longbottoms without me." Sirius sighed.

And so, he took Tristan's hand, and led him back to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

~

"Department of Mysteries." Head Auror Scrigmore told him, stamping a form and handing it to Sirius. "And be quick about it. Reinforcements needed at Longbottom house."

Tristan tried to tug out of Sirius' grip, panicking. He couldn't go to the Department of Mysteries, he couldn't. They'd hurt him. He didn't want to go...

A blast of magic sent Sirius and Scrigmore flying away from him and knocked him to the floor. He took the chance, scrambling to his feet and rushing to escape.

A stunner hit him in the back, and he was out like a light.

~

"Tristan, what did you say his surname was?" One of Them asked.

"Riddle. Tristan Arius Riddle." The other responded.

"Experiment Number?" The first asked.

"20118."

"Experiment?"

"Damage of dark magic on young core." They grinned excitedly.

"Is the subject prepared?"

"Of course. Shall we begin?"

"We shall."

"Crucio!"

And all Tristan knew was pain.

~

It was the time. The final hour, the end of horrible day he'd been through. He didn't know how long he'd been down there, how many ways he'd been cut up, experimented on, tortured, for information on the Dark Lord and his followers, for information on the effects of different types of magic, for spellcrafting purposes and testing new potions.

But today was the last day.

His last day in this time.

They couldn't charge him with a crime yet, and nor could they put him up for adoption, it was too soon and too raw, the war. He had reached the end of his usefulness and he was the perfect test subject for their new test.

Cyrogenic freezing, a concept the Muggles had been working on, one Tristan has read about in comic books Uncle Rabastan would bring him back from his Muggle Hunting exploits. He was to be frozen and revived in twenty seven years, the time based on the moon cycle as they were using Moon Ice.

The six year old was prepared, put in an overlarge set of Azkaban style robes, and then unceremoniously put in a glass sarcophagus which was half filled with Moon Pearls, which would change into Moon Ice when enchanted so at midnight.

Two minutes.

One minute.

Thirty seconds.

The Unspeakables began to chant, and Tristan winced, feeling the pearls melt and harden into ice trapping him in the freezing temperature.

He was there for a full minute before gas seeped in.

And all Tristan would know for twenty seven years was pain and darkness.

~

 _2008_

"What even is this thing?" Hermione asked Unspeakable Croaker. She had been asked to oversee the opening of the sarcophagus that no Unspeakable still alive or still working knew the contents of. It was filled with Moon Ice and the last instruction left on it was that it was to be opened on the tenth full moon of 2008. That was now.

"An attempt at Cyrogenic Freezing, that's what the notes said. No clue what it means, but," The Unspeakable shrugged. After the war, the spells placed on Unspeakables had changed. They could only speak of their work to high ranking Ministry officials and those with high enough clearance. Granger-Weasley was one of those with high clearance.

"There's a person in there?" Hermione eyes were wide.

Croaker nodded. "No record of who, though. Urban legend about it being a kid though."

"A kid?" Her eyes bugged and she shook her head, the thirty year old having mellowed significantly after getting pregnant with her first, pregnancy hormones and all. "Let's crack her open."

So they did.

It took some intricate spell work and chanting but as the moonlight fell on the sarcophagus, the stone cracked and fell apart, Moon Pearls spilling onto the floor with their young charge safely on top of them.

Tristan cracked his eyes open, staring up at the moon, shivering the moment his fragile body hit the air. Twenty seven years of pain and nothingness had practically shattered the mind of the six year old, who curled on himself and sobbed as he reveled in the fact that he was alive.

He was alive.

~

Several warming charms, a mug of hot chocolate, a blanket, and an eternity of arguments later, Tristan was sat in the living room of the new Granger-Weasley House, still shivering. The cold seemed to have seeped into his very bones and he just couldn't get warm.

"So what's your name sweetie?" Mrs Granger-Weasley asked with a sickening sweet smile.

Both Croaker and Potter, who had joined them as Head Auror, looked at the pregnant woman weirdly, not used to this side of Hermione.

"Tristan, ma'am." He said quietly, stuttering quite badly.

"Tristan who, though, sweetie?"

"Riddle. Tristan Riddle." He said quietly.

Head Auror Potter breathed in sharply at hearing the name.

"Do you know your father's name?" He asked, leaning forwards unintentionally.

Tristan burrowed deeper into the blanket unconsciously.

"Daddy is Lord Voldymore." He whispered. "Is he dead? They said he was dead."

Croaker and Granger-Weasley both flinched at the name, even butchered by the tongue of one so young.

Head Auror Potter couldn't help but feel sympathetic. Even if the man had been the crazed Dark Lord intent on killing him, he wouldn't wish this on anybody. He knew what it was like to grow up without parents. His mind went to James, his eldest, and he winced at the thought of him growing up alone. Or Teddy, Teddy growing up in a home like his childhood one.

"And your mummy?" Potter asked.

"I don't know." He mumbled. If his Daddy was dead - they hadn't confirmed or denied it, but by the look on Mr Head Auror Potter's face, he was dead - then Bella was almost definitely gone. And Fen. And Lucy too. Mulciber had been taken with him. He couldn't think of any other Death Eater that might have survived. Snape was a traitor, Daddy had said, he would be dead by now.

He needed to think of somebody who would help him, somebody who wasn't a Death Eater or werewolf who would be able to help him.

The nice Auror who had taken him to the MediWitch popped into his mind.

"I want Sirius Black." He mumbled, looking up at Auror Potter, his blood red eyes piercing into the man's emerald green ones. "Please."

Auror Potter sat in shock.

"Black... The Death Eater?" Croaker demanded with a frown.

Potter scowled at him, opening his mouth to argue when he heard the child giggled.

"Sirius Black wasn't a Death Eater." He stated. "He was a... A... Blood traitor. That's what Bella called him." He said, before he sunk back into himself at the thought of Bella, missing her intensely.

Potter and Granger-Weasley shared a look.

"Why do you want Sirius?" Potter asked.

"He was the nice Auror. He took me to the MediWitch." Tristan mumbled

"Black is dead." Croaker stated. Potter glared at him before just sighing and looking back to Tristan in a way that was ever so confusing to the child. Looking back, he'd recognise it as empathetic pity.

"Do you know the name of the MediWitch?" Potter asked.

"Poppy. Poppy Pomfrey," He recalled after a moment.

~

 _2009_

"An orphanage? Really?" Potter asked, hand on Tristan's shoulder protectively, looking at the building with some hesitance.

"It's the only option, Potter. Would you rather I let my father take care of him?" Draco Malfoy snapped.

"Uncle Lucy..." Tristan whimpered quietly.

Potter paled and nodded quickly. "Of course. Your father, I mean politely, I wouldn't trust him with a kneazle, let alone a wizard child."

"Potter, it's a wizard orphanage. Mcgonagall refuses to take him, so it's this or nothing." Draco reiterated, looking sympathetically down at Tristan. He would take him if he could but his father had disowned him for switching sides so he had very little money while supporting Aristoria and his little Scorpius. What with Aristoria's illness and all...

"I still don't understand why she would..." Potter said, a sour taste in his mouth. He adored Minerva, she was like a mother to him. Perhaps she felt she was too old to be a mother to such a young child.

He couldn't take him. Not with Ginny and Ron. Ginny, of course, would warm up to him, but Ron still had a problem with even Malfoy, he was sure the man would be cruel to the poor kid, if unintentionally, and he couldn't inflict that on the boy.

"She doesn't need a reminder of her pain, Potter, that's what he'd be for her, and he'd know it. He's a smart kid, he'd figure it out." Malfoy explained as gently as he could manage. "She had to have known that. This is what's best."

Potter nodded and led Tristan in, despite the horrible feeling of wrongness in the pit of his stomach.

~

 _2011_

Tristan sat out in the rain, his pants getting quickly soaked, and curled against the tree he was chained to. The magic dampening collar had his magic burning inside him, unable to lash out and defend him, unable to keep him warm, unable to do anything.

It wasn't too bad, the cold, after the cryogenic freezing, he would never feel the cold the same again. This was bad, but he'd seen worse. He would never truly be warm again.

'So disgusting, humans, chaining themselves to trees. Pathetic creatures..'

'I didn't do this to myself!' Tristan argued, looking around for the speaker.

'Speaker!' A strange red-eyed snake with pretty striped down its back reared in shock, looking up at Tristan.

Tristan wondered briefly if the snake was telepathic.

'You are a Speaker!' The snake hissed, sounding shocked.

So no telepathic snake, slightly disappointing, but still a cool snake.

'You're an adder,' Tristan replied calmly. 'A very pretty adder too. I'm sorry I'm in your space, I was forced here.'

'You were chained... Against your will?' The adder asked, a strangely hopeful note in its hiss.

'Yes.'

'Then I shall be your protector. And you shall protect me.' The snake decided. 'You will keep me warm.'

And the snake curled around his too thin stomach.

'I'm not very warm.' Tristan said apologetically.

'Then I will keep you warm.'

And so it was that boy and snake were friends.

~

 _2012_

"Miss Honey, Miss Honey, the snake had his creature bite me!" The girl screeched.

Nine, nearly ten, year old Tristan Riddle sat, in utter shock as he watched the girl grip the sharp rock and puncture her hand twice, maintaining eye contact with Tristan, a cruel glint in her eyes.

Miss Honey came outside, the horrendously fake witch screaming in horror at the blood streaming down the hand of the half-blood.

"You - you monster! I should have never let Auror Potter place you here!" She shrieked. "I shall deal with your - your creature!"

She whipped out her wand.

'Dash! Go! She's going to kill you!' Tristan hissed, scurrying to his feet and trying to unravel the snake as quickly as he could.

"Petrificus Totalus!" The witch bellowed. The snake went still. "Accio!"

Dash flew to the woman, who hit him to the floor in disgust. Dash looked up at his master, begging for his help, and Tristan tried to run forwards to help him, only to find himself caught by two beefy boys, who held him back harshly.

Miss Honey lifted her foot and stamped hard on the head of the snake with her high heel.

Tristan screamed.


	2. Chapter Two

**Synopsis: What if Lord Voldemort had a son? This is the story of Tristan Riddle and his unfortunate end.**

 **Warnings: Child abuse, police brutality, torture/experimentation of young child, character death, death penalty. Lots of OCs.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own any of the canon characters or plotlines of Harry Potter. I am a teenage writer with an overactive imagination.**

 **A/N: Somebody asked me why I gave Tristan the middle name Arius - it means immortal, get your head out of the gutter and away from the archaic slang. It seemed appropriate for a son of Voldemort and I didn't know the slang meaning.**

 **On with the story and don't forget to leave me a review. Seriously, I need them to keep my motivation up.**

~

 _September 2013_

Tristan stood, his trunk beside him, on the platform, waiting for the Hogwarts train. He had been left to go on his own while Miss Honey took the others.

"Tristan?" An excited male voice called, and Tristan found himself being swept into a tight hug by Mr Potter. He tensed, waiting for the blow, and didn't relax until he was released.

"Tristan, I'm so sorry for not visiting! How are you?" He asked cheerfully, a bright smile on his face. Behind him, Tristan could spot a red head woman with three children with her and a blue-haired teenager waiting for him to finish.

"I'm fine, Mr Potter, sir." Tristan mumbled.

"Sir? Call me Harry, I've known you since you were six!" He laughed.

Tristan couldn't stop his slight wince.

The exuberant man tried to calm himself, seeing he was scaring the boy who reminded him too much of himself, and far too much of the young Voldemort he remembered Dumbledore showing him.

Tristan was too thin, much too thin, and looked half terrified, as he had when he was six. There were bruises disappearing into his collar and underneath his eyes. The only notable difference was the leather tooth necklace he wore, which held a single fang that looked to have been glued back together, which it had been after Dash had been murdered by Miss Honey.

He didn't have an owl, a cat, or a toad. But nor did he have a snake, one thing he had feared.

"What house do you think you'll be in?" He asked a good deal more calmly.

"I don't know. Anything but Slytherin." Tristan whispered, a hint of desperation creeping in.

Harry have a sympathetic smile.

"Well, if you need anything, don't hesitate to talk to Teddy, he's a prefect now." Harry said, puffing up like a proud mother hen.

"I will, Mr Potter." Tristan answered dutifully. "I need to get on the train now."

So he went and did so.

He found an empty compartment and sat alone. People tried to come sit with him, but stopped upon seeing his red eyes and quickly left to find somewhere less dangerous to sit.

Then the blue haired prefect, Teddy he believed Mr Potter had said his name was, came by, a while later. He glanced inside the compartment, rolled his eyes, and came straight in, disturbing Tristan's quiet reading.

"When I was told all the compartments were full, I thought all the compartments were full." He snorted.

Tristan looked up at him, eyes wide in surprise.

"You're Teddy Lupin." He whispered, recognising him finally. "My dad killed your parents."

Teddy nodded. "He did." He said calmly. "But you didn't."

Tristan hesitated but nodded. That was true.

"So, what's the story with the fang?"

~

Tristan left the train, heart feeling significantly lighter than when he had gotten on the train. The boatride up to the castle was an uncomfortable experience, he sat in the first boat he found and ended up with Hagrid and a small girl who was too scared of him to tell him her name.

When they reached the school, the ghosts wandered leisurely past them. A strange red-haired one stopped near him, eyes widening in shock.

"You look so much like Harry." He said, reaching down to touch Tristan's unruly black hair, the ghost's touch feeling almost warm to the cold-blooded boy. "Who are you?" He demanded.

"Tristan. Tristan Riddle."

"I'm Fred. Fred Weasley." He said before shaking his head and floating off. "Gryffindor is the best house!" He called back with an amused smile.

"How didn't that make you cold?" A blonde haired girl asked beside him, her ice blue eyes piercing.

"I'm cold-blooded." Tristan answered simply with the most chilling smile the girl had ever seen.

"Interesting." The girl said with a bordering predatory smile. "I'm Celeste Greengrass, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Before much more could be said, a young dark-skinned man who introduced himself as Professor Thomas - Dean Thomas, he recognised, war hero and husband of fellow war hero Seamus Finnegan, current transfiguration professor, his husband being the current Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher - came into the room and directed them to form a line in alphabetical order, giving them a few minutes to do so, before he lead them into the Great Hall.

The hat had no song for the year and instead lifted his brim to say: "These few years will bring trouble and strife to many, but be wise, be brave, be cunning, and be loyal. And most of all, be strong. Seperated, you are weak, together, you are strong."

Tristan was sure those words would be permenently branded into his mind. He tried to distract himself by looking at the staff table and trying to name each individual.

Emmeline Vance, History of Magic. Sybil Trelawny, Divination. Rubeus Hagrid, Care of Magical Creatures.

Ellie Blanc was sorted into Ravenclaw.

Lyra Vector, Ancient Runes and Arithmacy. Gunfrak, Economics and Rituals. Susan Bones, Magical Law.

Liam Harris was sorted into Gryffindor.

Draco Malfoy, Alchemy. Horace Slughorn, Potions. Filius Flitwick, Charms.

Henry Martínez was sorted into Hufflepuff.

Seamus Finnegan (both him and Thomas had kept their names despite being married to make it easier for students), but Defense Against the Dark Arts. Neville Longbottom, Herbology. Stella Nott, Astronomy.

"Riddle, Tristan." Professor Thomas called.

Tristan winced at the gasps of shock and yells of anger that came as he walked up to the stool, cursing internally at having not finished his count. The hat was placed on his head and he was in darkness again. He tensed unconsciously.

'Lower your mind shields, young one, I cannot sort you if I cannot see your memories.'

Not Slytherin, not Slytherin, anything but Slytherin, Tristan thought, so desperately he didn't notice the hat's request until it was repeated to him.

He slowly forced himself to relax which brought down his mind shields easily.

The hat dove into his mind eagerly, the challange of the new mind exciting him. Why would the son of Tom Riddle, the model Slytherin, be so intent on not being in Slytherin?

'I'm sorry, my boy, but there's nowhere else I can put you.'

Not Slytherin, not Slytherin, not Slytherin.

'You would hate Hufflepuff, the friendliness would smother you and you'd lash out.'

Not Slytherin, not Slytherin, not Slytherin.

'In Ravenclaw you'd have nowhere to hide, no privacy, you would go crazy trying to stem their curiosity.'

Not Slytherin, not Slytherin, not Slytherin.

'Gryffindor would eat you alive before you could take a breath, your dark past would make you subject of bullying, if not their loud brashness and recklessness would be your downfall.'

Not Slytherin, not Slytherin, not Slytherin.

'For you, I have no choice. For another, I may have bended, but with your ambition, your political mind, your deep-rooted cunning and wariness, makes you perfect for,' the hat paused and opened his brim to declare loudly "Slytherin!"

'Good luck, Tristan Riddle. You'll be great,' The hat seemed to smile mentally, an odd feeling, as he was lifted off the boy, who blinked in the candlelight owlishly.

Silence.

Not a single person made a move or a sound.

And then Teddy Lupin was on his feet, clapping as loud as he could and cheering at the top of his lungs.

The rest of Hufflepuff slowly joined in.

Celeste Greengrass clapped softly, the other Slytherins joining with equal grace, and Tristan stood, schooling his face into a mask as he walked over to her, as quickly as the air he had to hold up would allow him to and sat next to him.

"Well done." She whispered in his ear and he gave her a small smile before his mask slipped back into place.

~

A cutting curse burst open his bag.

Tristan tried not to let his anger show, collecting his books from the floor calmly and shouldering the broken bag with a sigh.

Celeste was shouting and he tried to calm her, not wanting to be late to Professor Finnegan's class, knowing the Gryffindor would take any excuse to remove points from him.

"Celeste let's..."

"Diffindo!" A third year Gryffindor spat, the spell aimed right at Celeste. Tristan didn't blink as he threw himself in front of her, protective instincts arising.

Celeste stared at him as he pulled out his wand and growled a curse, not even glancing at his shoulder and chest, where the curse had hit.

"Let's get to class." He said, turning and offering her a hand silently to pull her up.

~

 _October 2013_

"Tristan, you've been unanimously been voted leader of the Slytherin first years." The fifth year prefect (and leader) Bonnie Granger (no relation to the Granger-Weasleys, rather to the Dagworth-Grangers, a French pureblood family) informed him calmly, giving him an almost-smile, her cold brown eyes hiding any emotional reponse beyond that, something Tristan was growing more and more to appreciate.

Honestly, he was shocked. He had not expected to be given such a position with his father being who he was. He was aware no other house had such a structured political system and found it rather odd, personally, but knew it was a great honour to be the leader.

He kept his face carefully schooled and nodded calmly.

"Thank you Granger." He said politely, "Congratulations on your continued rule."

Bonnie's smile emerged, a little smug and proud, and she glanced around before ruffling his hair playfully.

"Dork." She snorted.

"Nerd," Tristan responded easily, allowing the smallest of smiles to grace his face.

"Now get moving, you don't want Finnegan to remove anymore points." Bonnie urged him.

"Of course." He replied, smiling as he ensured his DADA book was in his new leather bag.

Bonnie had been a godsend, the elder girl had taken him under her wing after the bag incident, after he'd had a lecture from Finnegan, Slughorn, and Nott for tardiness, not having a bag, and not going straight to the hospital wing respectively. She'd found him in the hospital wing when she was doing her extracurricular with Madame Pomfrey on Healing and had taken to the boy and his logical mind rather quickly.

His reputation amongst the Slytherins had grown since that day when he was cursed. The elder Slytherins had became instantly protective of him, the prefects would give him rare smiles and the Leaders gravitated towards him, but their fears for his safety had diminished greatly when no such attack had occurred for a month.

In his own year, though he was quiet and kept to himself, he was respected for his intelligence, achievements, and silent stoic protection of those in his house and often not.

He had been seen using some rather creative hexes on the sixth year that tried to intimidate Teddy Lupin and walk away without a word.

Bonnie hurried off to catch her alchemy class, leaving him to rush towards DADA, slipping into a passage through a portrait quickly.

~

 _Samhein, 2013_

His sleep was fitful, pitiful really, and he woke up in a cold sweat. He rubbed his forehead tiredly and pulled himself out of bed, casting a quiet Tempus, looking at the numbers in the air with bleary eyes.

But the light from the Tempus revealed something else.

He hadn't been close to Damocles Rowle, but seeing the state of him was horrific no matter.

His lower jaw had been ripped off, nothing there but blood and an odd gold fuzz coming from where his throat was supposed to be. His eyes, once a brilliant blue the elder girls would fuss over, were tainted gold, looking dyed, and the colour was seeping out in undried tears swirling with the red of blood, the two never truly mixing. His white sleepshirt was wet with slowly spreading blood, pulsing from the whole in his chest.

Eyes wide in shock, unable to even scream, Tristan edged closer hesitantly, barely choking back the vomit that crawled threateningly up his throat when he saw the boy's heart was gone and his ribs were cracked and splintered from being broken through.

The worst part was the ever so slight movement of his chest and the quiet whimpering sound that seemed to be coming from the fuzz.

He was alive.

Blinking rapidly, Tristan cast the first spell he could think of at the wall, a cutting curse, which simply absorbed the magic, knowing this would set off the alarm in the Prefect's rooms that something was happening in the First Years boys room.

It felt like forever until Bonnie and Rionach Shafiq burst in, eyes searching for threats. When they spotted Tristan and subsequently Damocles, they stared for a second before shooting into action. Rionach ran off to retrieve the Slytherin Queen, Evella Shacklebolt, while Bonnie worked on getting the first years up and out of the Common Room.

She couldn't get him to budge all she tried and had to comfort the other Slytherins first considering he didn't seem to plan on moving anywhere.

Until Evella Shacklebolt came in, the dark skinned girl moving into his line of vision forcefully.

"Tristan, you need to come with me. You're exhausting yourself trying to save him." She said gently.

As soon as she moved in front of Damocles, Tristan felt his eyelids droop and his knees begin to give out.

"Bonnie, get him to the Hospital Wing. Rionach is getting Slughorn now. Inform the sixth year leader to wake up the nest, we will have to evacuate for Auror investigations." She continued calmly. "Leader meeting in the morning at eight sharp, Hospital Wing."

Bonnie nodded, taking out her wand and stumbling over the charm to levitate him, clearly shocked.

"Evie?" Bonnie asked softly, voice much quieter than he'd ever heard it. "It's happening isn't it? What you said would happen?"

"I don't know, Bon. Keep an eye out. We will be reinstating the Pair Rule regardless." Evella responded. She looked down at Tristan, half asleep and floating and gently touched his head, whispering a spell that had him asleep in seconds.

~

"We stay in pairs. The first year boys will be moved to the Head Boy's room as it is not in use. Wards will be set up in the rooms to prevent such occurences again. Evella, you could use your connection to the Auror Office via your father to keep us updated."

"Tristan, stay down," Bonnie fretted as Tristan tried to get out of bed after finishing his statement. But his determination not to apear weak in the Leader's meeting drove him on.

"I am fine, Granger." He said coldly, forcing himself to his feet. "I am, it was only magical exhaustion."

"You saw your dormmate die." Shafiq commented. Damocles Rowle had been pronounced dead only minutes after Tristan had been removed from the room.

"And I should have been able to prevent it. I didn't. It's my job to ensure rest of us remain safe." Tristan scowled at the Middle Eastern boy, who only graced him with a raised eyebrow in response.

"I agree with Riddle," Parkinson from fourth year said with a shrug. "Chamber of Secrets protocol. This will only increase hatred towards Slytherins, ignoring the worry of the murderer for a second. Groups of three, at least, would be preferable, in the lower years, two in upper, curfew taken an hour back and wards strengthened."

"We should reinstate the SA." Sixth year Wyllt stated.

"The SA?" Molly Folchart asked, the second year tilting her head slightly.

"Snake's Anarchy." Wyllt smiled mysteriously.

"That hasn't been instated since the second war!" Granger argued.

"And? This is serious, Bon, the SA may be our best hope." Shacklebolt said pensively.

"Yes, that, but what is the SA? Like what does it do?" Folchart asked.

"It's a protection that dates back to the time of Merlin when a war began against Camelot. Its a complicated bit of spell work that allows Slytherins full access to secret passages and rooms, and rewards the entire Slytherin Rooms. It also eases access to the Chamber of Secrets and Room of Requirement for Slytherin to students as well as preventing staircases from moving or Peeves from harming us in times of severe danger." Shacklebolt explained.

"Only the Slytherin Leaders can activate it. Last time it happened was during the second war, when the Death Eaters had control of Hogwarts. The other houses didn't trust us, Slytherins camped out in the chamber of secrets or in secret rooms and passageways to avoid harm." Wyllt said with a smirk. "It will only activate if a great enough danger is presented, something that should shut down the school, but won't due to the stigma and hatred of Slytherins as a general rule."

Tristan nodded, knowing his father would have been happy the students did that if he had his sanity during the last war. According to Fenrir, who he had managed to get in contact with via the Ministry's Azkaban Communicational Services, as the only remaining person of his 'family', his father had gone mad searching for his son. He wouldn't have wanted to harm innocent Slytherin children, he was sure.

"We instate that then." Mulciber, third year, said. Tristan was still getting over Mulciber having a grandson and how similar he looked to his grandfather...

"There is a final part to the Snakes Anarchy. All students not taking formal exams have to attend a mandatory extra Defense session held by the leaders according to the manuals left in the Chamber of Secrets." Granger said. "All years can attend, but it's not mandatory for exam years."

A set of nods.

And they planned to instate the Snakes Anarchy.

~

 _Christmas 2013_

The SA was a huge success. For two months, there had been nothing but attempted attacks, the Slytherins would report a feeling of dread coming over them, a sense if being watched, and a shadow following them that didn't make sense, not having an owner and its shape twisted beyond recognition. A few had even seen patches of the gold fuzz that'd taken Rowle.

Regardless, whenever these set it, the castle would open up a pathway, the Slytherin would rush inside, and the castle would close it behind them, leaving them to wince and cower as they heard something attacking the now sealed wall. None of them remained behind for long.

The attacks were becoming increasingly frequent, and the dread in Tristan's gut assured him it was only a matter of time before something was to happen.

He had only hoped it would be a matter of a bit more time.

He felt the magic crackling in the air even before the silvery Patronus reached him, Folchart's wild horse tossing its head, mane curling like steam.

"I'm cornered in the Astronomy Tower. Be quick." Was the whole message. After speaking to him, the horse snorted, glared at him, and galloped off at top speed.

Tristan registered the words a second later, as well as the panic and pain in the tone. He was running in seconds, a door appearing to his side that he didn't hesitate to barrel through, needing to reach Molly before she ended up like Rowle.

He had become increasingly close with her during the last two months with the SA bringing the Slytherins closer together and them often leading classes together. Molly, Celeste, and himself were rarely seen apart, in fact.

So when he burst out the other side of the corridor to find a creature, warped and obscured by the shadows, too horrific for him to truly process what he was seeing anyway, hovering over a too still Folchart, the knockback jinx left his lips before he could stop it, sending the creature flying off the Astronomy Tower.

He ran to his friend's side, shaking her lightly, horror creeping into his voice as she looked up at him, eyes glossy and unseeing, but didn't move a muscle.

Gold fuzz was trapped at the side of her mouth and with a glare, Tristan resisted the urge to clean it, knowing it might be the explanation for Molly's current condition, unwilling to risk her life for his trauma.

Shacklebolt arrived soon enough, and after the obligitary horror, levitated Molly and took off down the corridor that formed, leading them to the Hospital Wing.

It wasn't good news.

Without finding out what creature had done it, there was no hope of reversing the damage done.

Molly was paralysed.

~

 _June 2014_

Tristan picked himself up tiredly and shot off another spell at the creature in front of him.

He hadn't expected to find the creature that had paralysed Folchart, killed Rowle, even left Shacklebolt injured, amongst many other crimes, to be a teacher in disguise. Emmeline Vance, the old ex-auror, was actually a goddamn... Whatever he was facing.

It vaguely held the shape of the Auror, but was twisted and just wrong somehow, everything about the creature just screamed unnatural, from the painfully angled eagle wings, to the off-gold tail that looked to be a cross between a lion's and scorpion's and the strange stripe down its back. It was like somebody had tried to make a monster of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff to kill Slytherins.

Perhaps that was what happened.

It lashed at him with its tail and Tristan brought his arm up in alarm to protect himself, feeling a cut burn there before his arm started to go numb. So Folchart's memory hadn't been altered, he'd have to congratulate Safiq on his mastery of the mind arts, though he hadn't believed the boy to be right at the time.

He switched his wand arm before the paralytic could work.

"Confringo," He hissed, the blast hitting the creatures back and severing the tail. His sigh of relief was barely heard as he avoided another lunge before a spell shot off in the dark and hit him.

 _"Crucio,"_ His assailant cast.

Tristan grit his teeth and locked his muscles, refusing to give in, raising his twitching and shaking wand arm slowly.

"Stupefy."

The spell hit home and the pain ended. Tristan turned to the creature, only to see it slowly transforming back into Professor Vance, who looked around wildly.

Tristan let himself fall, every part of his body radiating pain, ache, burn. He just wanted to sleep now, but he had to make sure there was justice for his snakes, and he wasn't about to let the creature escape either.

"Miss Vance, do not be alarmed. There is somebody unconscious over there, would you be so kind as to put them under a binding spell? I don't believe I have the energy to do it myself." Tristan requested.

As soon as Miss Vance had complied, wide eyed and confused, Tristan shot off an Incarcerous at her, slowly pulling himself to his feet.

"Peeves?" He called. "Peeves, please, I need you to fetch Shacklebolt. I want to see her face when she realises I was right."

Peeves did not appear.

"As funny as that sounds, I would like to know what exactly were you right about."

Fuck.

Tristan turned to face Professor Finnegan, tensed. "Who was attacking the Slytherins, sir. They attempted to attack me and I overpowered them."

Professor Finnegan didn't know how to respond to that.

"Could you call the Aurors, sir?" Tristan requested, trying to stand, only for his legs to buckle pathetically.

Maybe Durmstrang had an opening...

~

 _September 2014_

Durmstrang did not have an opening.

Tristan went quickly to an empty compartment on the train and was soon met with a now un-paralysed and walking Folchart.

"Did you hear? Kalan made Head Boy." She chirped cheerfully, the now third year taking a seat beside him.

Tristan hummed non-committally. Kalan Wyllt would be a good Head Boy, he was sure, and a good Slytherin King. He was the one who decided not to take down the Snakes Anarchy just yet.

His attention remained on his book. It was new, a copy of Cassiopeia Black's new 101 More Ways to Torture Your Enemies Legally, searching for new spells to teach the SA.

He didn't notice Celeste had joined them until she asked, "What on earth is that obnoxious yellow thing?"

Tristan started, looking up at his friend. "What?"

"That thing you are holding. The yellow stick."

"It's... A highlighter." Tristan answered, looking down at the Muggle pen, confused.

"That is certainly not highlight." Celeste's nose was upturned and wrinkled.

"What...?"

"Obviously it's not highlight, Greengrass." Folchart rolled her eyes. "It's a muggle highlighter. It's like a quill that you run over writing so it stands out. It's used to mark something you need to look over or show its importance, usually."

"You needn't be so rude, Folchart." Greengrass sneered. "I have eyes, you might be aware."

Tristan was absolutely baffled by the girls and their starting argument and turned his attention back to the pages, highlighting a particularly interesting section about a spell that releases Carbon Monoxide.

Spells that used Muggle science were technically all legal.

He wondered if magic could be used as a catalyst to...

"Tristan are you even listening?" Molly snapped.

Tristan glanced up to see both girls slightly red in the face and glaring fiercely at each other.

"No," He admitted timidly.

"Typical." Greengrass muttered.

"Honestly. Boys are trash." Folchart agreed. The two sat down next to each other and began to talk about how irritating boys could be.

Tristan blinked.

Girls were a mystery to him.

He tried to keep his attention on his book until he heard a very distressed hissing and stood up, instinct taking over.

'Master, Master, help me! They're going to kill me, Master, help me!' The words were too familiar and the Parseltongue was too thick, the magic drawing him to the source as he flew out of his compartment and took off running, the Carbon Monoxide spell seeming like a fun way to end whoever dared hurt a snake.

What he found was... Horrific. A first year in tears, being held back by a larger boy, and a beautiful snake struggling as it was repeatedly stomped on and spells were thrown randomly at it.

The blasting spell on the third year's lips would kill the snake, Tristan was sure.

He raised his wand at the Gryffindor. "Langlock!" He cast firmly, watching in satisfaction as the words died and the boy clawed at his throat and mouth.

Tristan turned his wand on the one holding the poor girl, and snarled a spell at him, watching in satisfaction as he turned into a rather ugly crow that warbled unpleasantly at him. "Oh, piss off." He grumbled when it tried to fly at him, batting the creature away tiredly.

The girl ran towards with a sob, picking up her snake, a pretty coral snake, he now noted, and draping him securely over her, nuzzling her face reassuringly into its scales. Tristan managed to cast a few simple healing spells and advised the girl to find Hagrid at the school. The man would help her nurse the snake back to health.

"Thank you, thank you," She whimpered, attaching herself to Tristan and hanging on like a limpet. He patted her head awkwardly, not really sure how to handle... This.

The snake hissed his reverence also, curling his tail around Tristan, preventing him from even pulling away from the shorter girl.

"It was nothing." He dismissed, not knowing what to do.

'Nonsense, you saved my life,' The snake hissed reverently.

'It was nothing.' Tristan repeated dismissively, not realising he had switched to Parletongue automatically.

The girl yanked herself away from him quickly, eyes going wide with fear.

"You're... You're one of them! The bad wizards from the Snake House." She said.

Tristan almost groaned. The girl had a snake as a pet and she was angry that he could speak Parletongue?

Girls.

She ran off, clutching her snake, who hissed apologies at Tristan wildly.

Tristan just sighed and turned to find the bathroom to change into his robe, an easy excuse.

~

The Sorting Feast was a boring affair. The most interesting part was seeing a tiny first year by the name of Eden or 'Delta' Holt, A muggleborn, get sorted into Slytherin.

She was half crying as she came to sit on the table. Tristan rolled his eyes but grudgingly moved to allow the poor thing to sit when the other first years refused to do so. Oh, he hoped Parkinson, the new Prefect, would deal with them.

His attention was snatched back to Kalan Wyllt as a hand landed on his shoulder.

He looked up at the Head Boy, noting the almost predatory grin on his face.

"Tristan, how would you like your little... Parental problem, solved?" Wyllt asked with a sly smile.

Tristan furrowed his brow, confused. What?

"Come to my rooms after we've settled the Hatchlings." Wyllt continued, patting his shoulder. "And do remember to try out for Quidditch. You've the perfect frame for a Seeker." He hummed before he made his way back to his seat, taking a plate of roasted pheasant with him.

Tristan blinked, looking to Folchart, then to Greengrass.

"I guess your Christmas will be fun." Celeste laughed.

Tristan just groaned.

~

"And our new Seeker will be... TRISTAN RIDDLE!" Wyllt yelled, a wild grin splitting his face.

Tristan landed, frowning at the uncomfortable broom he had been seated on, a twitch of a brow the only clue to his bafflement. He was the Seeker? Out of him and fourth year Mulciber, he was the seeker?

He nodded Mulciber and shook his hand politely before his hand was caught by Wyllt, who pulled him into a hug.

"Come, little brother, we have to get the elves to move your belongings." Wyllt hummed. The Head Boy and Quidditch Captain wore his usual crazed grin that scared the first years, or Hatchlings as Wyllt insisted on calling them, into place.

Since the first night, he had became invariably closer to Tristan, after practically forcing the boy to be adopted by Cassiopeia Black, who had until recently cared for Kalan also. Now, Kalan insisted on calling him little brother and refused to let Tristan call him anything but Kalan or big brother.

Tristan was not all that amused.

"Cassie's going to be so proud! You should write to her." Kalan advised excitably.

"Yes, Kalan." Tristan murmured quickly, ducking out of the hug.

~

The broom was beauty.

Aunt Cass, as he'd soon taking to calling her, had sent him the little beauty of a broom, black with silver runes carved all across the wood, in supreme condition. The name of the broom was on the very top of neat silver script. _Absolute Zero._ It was brilliant.

And so was his new room.

The Slytherin Quidditch team shared a dorm, down its own little corridor with its own little common room and seperate rooms for each different type. There was a room for the Beaters, for the Chasers, one for the Seeker and Keeper to share, and a seperate one for the Captain. It couldn't be said that Slytherin house was not a place of luxury.

In fact, his and Amy Bones' room was quite lovely. He had his own king sized bed, as did Amy, and there was a silvery screen to seperate them if needed. One wall of their room was simply a window to the Black Lake, where the merpeople would come to greet him and the Slytherin Keeper happily. He had been delighted to discover that merpeople could use a rudementary form of Parsletongue most often used by sea monsters that was not too difficult for him to learn, allowing him to speak to the merpeople once an amused Bones had cast some charms to allow each party to hear the other. She found she quite liked being sung awake by the aquatic beings, and truly didn't mind.

Bones was in third year with Molly and actually quite close with her and it wasn't long before she'd been absorbed into their little group. She was a quieter sort, much preferring to sit quietly with Tristan and discuss whatever innane subject they thought of rather than argue with Celeste and Molly. It seemed Molly had 'adopted' her, as extroverts so often did to introverts.

Amy smiled, humming along softly to the merman guard's song as she applied her makeup in the mirror on the day of the first Hogsmead trip.

"You know there are spells for that." Tristan said, sounding amused as Amy threw down her eyeliner, glaring at the little object as the black once again smudged.

"They don't get the wings sharp enough." She huffed, her hand twitching with malicious intent. She would hex Tristan if he dared...

"I could try if you want?" He suggested.

"Like you could be any better than me." She muttered, but held out the applicatior for him regardless.

He snorted, summoning a chair from across the room and sitting so he was level.

His hand jerked when a crash shook the dungeons and the merman stopped singing, hissing a warning to Tristan.

Amy was too shaken to hex Tristan for messing her eyeliner once again, just snatching the applicator off him as another crash shook.

That all too familiar feeling of dread horror fear fell over him and he moved in front of Amy as a man entered the room, eliciting a loud wordless hiss from the merman.

Tristan flicked his wand into his hand, wracking his brain for spells. He was getting good at the Bubblehead charm, he was sure he could cast it on Amy for it to hold for her to escape via the lake. The guard would get her safely out of the water. He couldn't just vanish the glass though and he couldn't think of a spell that would let Amy pass but prevent the man in front of him from passing.

Why the hell had nobody told him Fenrir Greyback was at large and how the hell did he get down here?

He had missed Fen, truly, but he could see in the man's eyes that he didn't recognise Tristan and he was hostile. Perhaps he half recognised him.

But this wasn't the Fen he was used to, gone were his nice robes and clean shaven face, the unruly but kept hair, the wisdom and promise of potential in his eyes. Gone, he was sure, was his healing abilities, lost to conditioning and giving too much to the wolf.

"Fenrir, I haven't seen you in years." He said softly, managing a sweet, innocent smile, still racking his brain for a spell to get Amy out of the way. If she got hurt, he didn't know what he'd do.

"Who are you?" The werewolf snarled, lip curling over his teeth.

Tristan tried to hide his disgust, he really did, but Fenrir's teeth were yellowed and caked in plaque. Did werewolves not know about brushing their teeth anymore? Gross.

His disgust only made Fenrir angrier and he took a menacing step forwards...

"Spongify!" Tristan cast quickly, the spell hitting the window. "Bulla Capitis!" The next spell hit Amy.

He shoved her through the transfigured window, the bubble-head charm holding. The merman gave him a nod and took Amy's arm even as she tried to go back to help Tristan.

Tristan looked back at Fenrir, feeling the spongify wear off on the window already, him having only put in enough power to get Amy through, and tensed as the werewolf charged him...


End file.
